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a blur. I was getting better at controlling my senses, at tamping down the sensory data flooding every moment. Some girls fell in love with their high lucidity and went through a depression once it came to an end. Others tried to make money off it, by hiring themselves out to chefs to be expert taste testers, or by creating new color palettes for designers. But not everyone trusted high lucidity. Some people considered it false, a form of hysteria.

Cassandra was the type to embrace her heightened senses. We met in the school bathroom and stood in front of a single mirror, our hip bones jutting against the sink. Cassandra leaned in close to study her pores. She said it was like seeing straight into her body. I opened my mouth wide and peered at my molars, my uvula, the soft tissue under my tongue. I laughed a little. It was nothing short of bizarre, all that was inside us.

I took off my sweater, relieved to feel unburdened of the hot material for at least a few moments. Underneath, I wore a sleeveless undershirt, and Cassandra reached out to touch my upper arm. She ran her finger up and down, calling the tiny hairs along my arm to attention.

“Your skin is so soft,” she said. “Was it like this before your change?”

“I have no idea.” I reached for her hair, all gloss and velvet. It felt heavy, like I could weigh the protein in each strand.

So much of what people said about changeling girls was urban legend. If someone had burst into that bathroom right then, they might have started a rumor about Cassandra and me, how we turned to each other out of sheer, mindless attraction. But this wasn’t about sex for us. It was about wonder, and mystery, and the joy of feeling the slightest touch to the core of your being. It was the kind of connection only possible between changeling girls.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class. I slid my sweater back on and we headed to Cassandra’s locker. Our teachers would forgive us for being late. They made allowances for changelings, understanding it was difficult for us to be in school in our state.

I leaned against the wall of lockers as Cassandra searched for a book. She was stretched up on her tiptoes, rooting through the top shelf of her locker, when Jonah appeared behind her.

Jonah was a fourth-year, like Miles. He was on the baseball team and also on the drum line, a rare combination, and some mornings he showed up to school without bothering to shave. There in the hallway he crept silently toward Cassandra, shooting me a sly look like he expected me to keep his secret. He edged so close that his breath was probably on the back of her neck. She surely sensed him there, surely heard him and smelled him and even felt the draft of air moving around his body, but she pretended not to. A game.

When Cassandra finally whirled around to face Jonah, he didn’t back up. Not one inch. Instead he laughed and reached for a strand of her hair. I’d held her hair only moments before, which had seemed right, and harmless. This was something else.

Cassandra smiled at him. Jonah tugged the lock of hair a little, bringing her closer. If I weren’t standing right there, maybe he would have kissed her. Watching Jonah and Cassandra together made me think about the guidelines for appropriate behavior for changeling girls outlined in Mapping the Future. For the first time I wanted more rules, a whole host of them, anything to keep my friend safe. I didn’t like how she was looking at this older boy, how she was leaning closer every second.

Jonah finally acknowledged me.

“Celeste, wow,” he said. “Being a changeling suits you.”

Cassandra shut her locker, hard. “Being a changeling suits everyone.”

I looked around the hallway, which had emptied completely. The silence felt ominous.

“I need to talk to you, Cassie,” I said. “Alone.”

“Are you sure?” She was still gazing at Jonah.

“Yes. Right now.”

“Go ahead,” Jonah told Cassandra. “We’ll meet up later.” He squeezed her shoulder, and I felt something like static go through the air. He walked backwards for the first few steps, keeping his eyes on us, before he turned and disappeared around the corner.

“You shouldn’t get that close to a boy, Cassie,” I said after he’d gone. “It’s risky. Even if you trust Jonah, it might give the wrong idea to other boys. Or men.”

“We’re in school. Public places are safe.” She put a hand on my arm. “Don’t be paranoid.”

“I’m just saying it’s better to wait until your changeling period is over before getting mixed up with Jonah.”

“I can’t wait.” Her voice started to rise. “New girls start changing all the time. I have to catch his attention now.”

“At least promise me you won’t go anywhere with him alone.”

Cassandra looked exasperated. “You need to relax. No one’s getting hurt here.” She bent down to zip her backpack, pulling the metal teeth together with a swift flick of her wrist. “No one else will tell you this, so I will,” she added. “You’re becoming a bore.”

“Cassie. Don’t.”

“I’m serious, Celeste. If you’re not careful, no one will want to bother with you. You make things too difficult.”

She grabbed the bag by its straps and turned to leave. I waited, stunned, but she didn’t apologize. She didn’t even look back.

*   *   *

At that time in my life, I experienced the possibility of losing a friend as a trauma. Friendships were important to me, Cassandra was important to me, and the prospect of a rift in our relationship just then, when I needed her most, was agonizing.

On that day, I worried I’d already lost her. When school let out, Cassandra was nowhere to be found, Marie was in her domestic arts club, and Miles had headed straight downtown to Julia’s. I walked home with a group of girls I didn’t know well. Elissa, Janet,

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